Spinning In Infinity
by ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: (Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.) Healing. - Charlie/Matteusz


**A/N:** Fun Fact: I actually wanted to call this series Spinning In Infinity and this particular fic Angels In The Architecture but then I remembered the Weeping Angels and that isn't really the tone I'm going for here. Either way, this series and its titling is owed to Paul Simon.

I honestly have no idea what time Class is supposed to be set imagine it's some time around when it first aired for this to make any sense. Thanks.

(Yes I know Poland has a very important Jewish heritage but frankly I don't really know enough about Hanukkah to not be afraid I would screw something up so I'm writing Matteusz as some-denomination-of-Christian. Regardless this is more of a Winter-fic than a Christmas one, though Christmas is there.)

Sequel to **I Will Lay Me Down (Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water)** , **I Have Squandered My Resistance** and **And My Travelling Companions Are Ghosts And Empty Sockets**

* * *

Charlie is waiting for him at the door, the zipper on his puffer pulled all the way. A grey scarf is wrapped multiple times around his neck and tucked into the jacket, sitting high enough that if Charlie ducks his head he can bury his nose in the warm, soft material. It's not as cold here in England as it had been in Poland and Matteusz enjoys the weather, but from what he has gathered from the small stories Charlie has told him, Rhodia was a hotter planet than Earth is. And Charlie has a strange relationship with the cold.

Even in the house with its fairly decent heating system, Charlie had started piling on clothes and blankets as soon as the temperature begun to drop. At night he presses his cold nose up against Matteusz's collarbone and keeps as many hands and feet tucked up underneath the two of them as he can, seeking heat. Charlie doesn't like being cold; he's lost a fair amount of weight and muscle mass since using the Cabinet, holed up in his room and barely eating or sleeping, and it hasn't helped his natural susceptibility to the temperature. His teeth chatter and he shivers even seated in front of a portable heater, curled up with his knees to his chest. He doesn't complain, he never complains, but he does let Matteusz hold him tighter and more often than he has in over a month, greedily soaking up his body heat.

Despite this, Charlie has taken to winter _clothing_ like a duck to water. He covers almost every inch of available skin with soft, warm material; sometimes only his eyes and hair poking out the top of an assortment of gloves, scarves, jackets and blankets. He huddles down in it all like a bird puffing up its feathers and just sits. Matteusz has even caught him smiling, once or twice, the corners of his lips turned up and eyes soft as he looks down at where the sleeves of Matteusz's over-large sweaters hang down over his hands, only the tips of his fingers poking out.

But even with his proficiency at winter clothing, Charlie is dressed far too warmly for the house. He's sweating slightly, fluffing up his hair at his temples. Matteusz stops in front of him and almost reaches out to pat his fringe down into its usual tidy style; but while before Charlie had welcomed kissing and handholding, now he doesn't much like being touched without initiating contact. Instead, Matteusz speaks: "What are you doing, Charlie?"

Charlie tugs at his sleeves with his fingers curled over, and when he replies his voice is a little muffled, scratchy from disuse. "I haven't been good to you." He says, and Matteusz can hear the real emotion behind words that are clearly rehearsed - like Charlie knew what he wanted to say, but had to practice the right words. There's a comfort in there somewhere; that no matter how things have changed, Charlie's inability to properly express himself has remained the same. "Or kind." He finishes.

"It's alright." Matteusz says, hushed, and he really does mean it even has he's happy to hear Charlie apologise. "You are grieving."

Charlie pauses and nods, either in acknowledgement or thanks Matteusz can't be sure. "I want to make it up to you. I want to repay you." Matteusz would tell him that it's okay, that Charlie doesn't owe him anything, that he's been doing what he has because he loves him and he wants to help, but Charlie powers on. "April told me that this time of year is special. That you're supposed to be with the people you love. I don't really understand it. Shouldn't you always be with the people that you love?" He frowns in confusion. "But April said it was extra important now. And I want to be with you."

It's dark outside. Or, it would be dark outside if it were't for the light pollution. 'The sun has set' is perhaps more accurate, and Matteusz had planned on going out to see the lights. It's something his family had always done in Poland: all the visiting relatives had split up into little groups and walked off down the streets and reported back the best places for decorations. When they had moved, Matteusz had been excited at the prospect of being able to see the lights in London. A month ago, he had been looking forward to starting a new tradition with Charlie, to showing him something truly beautiful here on Earth. Recently he had starting thinking it a silly wish, given the circumstances.

But Charlie is here and waiting for him, and Matteusz smiles and reaches around him and opens the door.

-00000-

Charlie has grown gaunt in the house, his eyes sunken in their sockets, dark stains underneath that could almost be bruises, no matter how much he sleeps. He does not dream restfully. He looks sickly under the lights, reds and blues and greens and yellows shading his too pale skin, too long hidden from any sunlight. It twinkles across his face, sometimes one colour alone, others all at once, and even with his artificial colouring it is nowhere near the most alien that Charlie has looked.

But Charlie walks down Carnaby Street at Matteusz's side and he looks around in wonder. Not at the lights, although they are impressive. But at the people - at the world - like he is surprised that it's all still there. And in that wonder Matteusz sees a spark off hope, and he thinks that it's beautiful.

They walk as far as Somerset House, and even though it is late, the ice is still busy. But Matteusz manages to get them both a pair of skates. He skated fairly often in Poland. Not enough or with any intention of being anything other than "capable", but good enough that he will be able to catch Charlie if he falls. _When_ he falls.

Matteusz turns, skates in hand, and sees Charlie waiting for him and he's struck by the thought that Charlie is a _Prince_. Matteusz knows it, of course. It shouldn't be a surprise. But sometimes he looks at Charlie and he's reminded all over again. The set of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin, a look in his eye, and Charlie is _royalty_ all the way down to his bones, commanding and compassionate and even if he didn't love him dearly Matteusz would still swear himself to him. Even now, hidden under layers of clothes and thin and tired and _lost_ , Charlie still looks _right_ for the opulence of Somerset House that rises behind him.

Matteusz helps Charlie put on the skates, and walks behind him as he totters towards and onto the ice. To Matteusz's surprise he doesn't fall immediately, but he does scar the ice with heavy footsteps rather than a smooth glide. He moves slowly, and Matteusz is forced to skate in wide circles besides and behind and around him to not get too far ahead. He doesn't mind. It lets him look at Charlie from every angle, and while mostly he's just layers of clothes, it does get him a good look at his face: it's set and determined and his eyebrows are drawn together in fierce concentration as he staggers forward in fits and starts, his arms swinging along with the movement of his legs.

But even with the way Charlie seems to almost be trying to plant himself in the ice, it can not help him when he hits a smoother patch and his left skate slips out in front of him faster than his right can catch up. And Matteusz reaches out on instinct, catches him tight around the waist before he hits the ground. There's quite a bit of give in his clothing, but eventually he meets solid body and hauls Charlie upright again. There's a brief moment of stunned and breathless silence, and then Charlie starts to laugh. And maybe it's because he's tired or delirious or embarrassed or finally letting go of his shock and his sorrow; maybe it's because Charlie is genuinely happy, or he simply makes a sound because Matteusz's arm knocks the wind out of him and it just carries on and on into a laugh Charlie just can't control. Matteusz doesn't know. But whatever it is, Charlie doesn't give any indication that it will be stopping soon as his laughter starts to edge towards the hysterical and Matteusz pulls him closer - slowly, gently - until they're standing with they chests mere centimetres apart, one of Charlie's legs positioned between two of Matteusz's own and Charlie bows his head and laughs desperately into Matteusz's shoulder. Matteusz's reaches up with his free arm and buries his hand in Charlie's hair, rubs his thumb back and forth near the bottom of his hairline as his shoulder gets colder and damper, and not from the windchill.

And just as suddenly as Charlie started, he stops. He doesn't look up, just stays there with his head bowed and breathes. Matteusz can feel his shoulders shifting slightly with each breath, and he slides his hand down until he has his fingers on the side of Charlie's neck, his thumb under his chin, and he tilts his face up. Charlie has to look through his eyelashes to look into his eyes, but with the tears on the end of them it is not a seductive pose. But Matteusz is so happy too see Charlie outside - his face with colour in it even if it is only red from cold - that it doesn't matter. "Can I kiss you?" He asks, and Charlie nods.

Matteusz takes his arm from Charlie's waist and brings both his hands up so they're cradling his face. He's done this before, held Charlie like this, and even though his fingers can easily frame the whole of Charlie's head, this is the first time that Charlie has felt _small_. He's always seemed bigger than he is; not imposing, but confident and assured and you couldn't help but listen to him. But now he's drawn in on himself, and he feels so delicate in Matteusz's hands and Matteusz bends a little, slowly, and kisses Charlie so softly and carefully that their lips only just touch. And Charlie sighs out through his nose and puts his hands on Matteusz's hips, pulls him even closer so they're touching everywhere and kisses him back just as gently. It feels like a promise.

-00000-

Matteusz takes Charlie to Christmas Mass in the morning. He hasn't been back to church since his parents kicked him out, but not because he didn't want to. At first he just hadn't found the time to look for a new church, what with all the aliens. And then he hadn't wanted to go alone. And after the Cabinet, he hadn't really thought about much else, and it seemed disrespectful to go along when the religious experience would be the last thing on his mind. Besides, he would still have been going alone. But it's Christmas, and Matteusz may not be as strict as his parents, but he still _believes_. Even after the aliens. He's always thought of the Bible as more like advice rather than literal truth, and since he decided to change his life he has tried to live by its pacifist resistance teachings. And he enjoys the stories, and the sense of community. The way the members would support each other. For the most part.

He always liked Christmas Mass in particular; the sense of joy and celebration and beginnings. Beside him on the pew to the back of the church, Charlie seems to enjoy it as well, a faint smile on his lips as the people around them stand to sing songs of praise and echo prayers and blessings back to the priest. The church is small, the piano in the corner only a keyboard, the aisle between pews cramped so that when they all come forward to receive communion they jostle together and stand on each other's toes. But the occasion is too light for anyone to be annoyed. No one admonishes Charlie when he stays seated, and when Matteusz sits back down beside him it is closer than he was before, their arms pressed together.

Matteusz has always found the homily the most dull part of mass, with no audience participation or even the ritual of sitting and standing to break it up, but Charlie listens intently, his face more open and vulnerable then Matteusz has seen it since he confessed to thinking he should be dead. But it is a good vulnerability, not a devastating one. And when he starts crying silently as the priest speaks about family and love, he leans over a little and rests his head on Matteusz's shoulder for support. Matteusz fells his stomach swoop in a brief flash of terror at the action, but when no one turns to glare at the pair of them or to make a scene, he forces himself to relax. He did his research and chose this particular church for a reason, but he still can't help but be afraid that everyone around him will be just like his parents.

The only moment of awkwardness comes when offering the Sign of Peace; the elderly lady seated beside Charlie turns to him with her hand outstretched, and Matteusz has to nudge Charlie to remind him to shake. He doesn't reply to her wish of peace, but she looks more understanding than annoyed when Matteusz smiles at her over Charlie's head and reaches around him to offer his own blessing.

She catches Charlie's attention again after mass, as everyone begins to stand and mill around. "First time?" She asks, and Charlie mulls it over for a bit in confusion before he nods.

"Yes." He says. "I was not raised religious." And that was honestly something that had never crossed Matteusz's mind - that Charlie might have followed another religion on Rhodia and bringing him here might have reminded him of that. Luckily it isn't the case.

"What did you think?" She asks.

"It was beautiful." Charlie says, and Matteusz blushes and beams down at him. The woman notices and addresses him too.

"I haven't seen you here before either."

"No." Matteusz says, and pauses, not sure how much he wants to say. "I used to go to a different church."

The woman looks between the two of them and then nods sadly. "Well you are both more than welcome here." She says, and Matteusz and Charlie both thank her, Matteusz promising to come back. And he really does mean it - not every week, but for special occasions it would be nice to be with people.

-00000-

They pick up Thai on the way home. It's one of the few restaurants open, and the owners know their primary clientele for the day; young people either too busy or too lazy to make a full Christmas meal, who instead are happy with a turkey stir-fry offered as a one-off daily special. Charlie carries the food in one hand and holds on to Matteusz's hand with the other, and doesn't seem at all bothered by the way the stretched handles of the plastic bags must be digging into he flesh of his fingers.

April isn't in the house when they get back, and Matteusz puts her share in the fridge and then turns the television onto something mindless to fill the silence of the house. It's not a comfortable quiet, but it isn't crushing. And Charlie eats more than he has in over a month, although he doesn't quite manage the entire takeout container. The TV plays softly in the background and Matteusz thinks idly about leaning over, taking the fork and plastic container from Charlie and kissing him, pushing him back down on the couch and covering him with a comforting weight, letting the two of them forget about the world and everything they've done for a few moments. But he doesn't know how Charlie would react. He doesn't know how _he'd_ react. He doesn't want to forget anything, forgetting it would feel too much like _excusing_ it. And he doesn't want the Cabinet to keep them apart forever, but they have to remember so they can stop it ever happening again. So instead he turns his own fork over and over in is hand and pushes it around the empty container.

April appears, stepping out of the shadows without announcing herself. She's clutching something in her hand and she stares fixedly at the floor, her face blank and still. To Matteusz's surprise, Charlie is the one to address her. "There's lunch in the fridge." He says, and April looks up and the expression in her eyes is one Matteusz recognises all too easily - she looks lost and tired and alone. And then she nods and walks off into the kitchen. He and Charlie stare after her, and there is complete silence from the other room for a few minutes before they hear the sounds of the refrigerator being opened and the microwave started. They look at each other, and then silently move closer until there is a gap big enough for April next to Charlie; pressed together from shoulder to feet, closer then they had been at the church, closer then they have been during the day since Matteusz had almost carried Charlie home after he used the Cabinet. They're only so close when Matteusz holds him through nightmares.

April comes back into the room a couple of minutes later, food in one hand and a DVD case in the other. She puts her lunch down on the table and waves the case around. "My mum–" She says, chokes a little on her words, swallows, and starts again. "My mum said I should take this. It's my favourite Christmas movie.". Matteusz smiles and gestures for her to put it on. She does, and then sits down next to Charlie and starts fiddling with the remote. In truth the buttons are slightly too small for her fingers, but she doesn't let that stop her.

The couch is not really big enough for the three of them, and Matteusz's arm is squished uncomfortably between himself and Charlie. He levers it out slowly, careful not to jab his elbow anywhere it isn't welcomed, and then stretches it up and around Charlie's shoulders. Before, he would have made it the cheesiest of moves and yawned as he did it and then enjoyed trying to explain to Charlie what was so funny. Now he just tries not to be hurt when Charlie tenses up at the contact before relaxing and accepting it and shifting a little closer so his head is in a more comfortable position. April gets the remote under control and Bruce Willas' face and the Nakatomi tower appears with the menu screen and Matteusz laughs, because April never does what's expected of her. She smirks at him over Charlie's head while Charlie looks between the two of them in confusion and Matteusz sinks deeper into the couch.

The truth is, he's always resented Christmas a little; being with family who thought he was wrong and sick. He'd seen every movie and card and sentimental, schmaltzy Christmas special that celebrated people with differences coming together and finding common ground and putting conflict aside, and he had hated that his family could not manage the same, could not even pretend to accept him just for one day. He'd smiled through it, and he'd been with his cousin and his grandmother who loved him for who he was, not who they thought he should be. But he'd still heard his aunts and uncles and their snide comments, his parents and their denials.

And now, it's not perfect - he's still not talking to half his friends, Miss Quill and every other alien is still out there and probably planning to invade and ruin his day, April is still stuck in a Shadowkin body for her survival. He and Charlie are still hesitant together, still figuring out where they stand. But with one arm around Charlie, his weight heavy and relaxed against him; with April beside Charlie and holding his hand; it's the closest it's ever been.

-00000-

That night, Charlie and Matteusz head upstairs together, They've been sharing a bed for over two weeks now, but Charlie has always been under covers pulled up high long before Matteusz begins to feel tired. And even though it's only ever them and April in the house, Charlie still insists on walking around with every button on his clothes done up tightly, hiding everything from view. Matteusz has hardly seen his skin in over a month. He would be frustrated, but he hasn't allowed himself to be.

They haven't touched each other sexually in even longer. For Matteusz it hadn't felt appropriate, like he would be taking advantage of Charlie's hurt and emptiness to get something he wanted, turning the comfort he has been trying to offer into something else. But Charlie seems completely removed from it. They've woken up pressed tightly every morning, wrapped around each other intimately, and Matteusz has had to delicately extract himself and slip off to the bathroom for many of them. But from Charlie, there has been _nothing_. Not even a twitch. Even now, as Matteusz slowly unbuttons Charlie's shirt and they stand next to their bed, there's no intent behind it other than a restful sleep. Charlie shivers, but it's from the cold, not anticipation.

Matteusz pushes Charlie's shirt off his shoulders, and he sees what the high collars and long sleeves have been hiding. Charlie's chest is covered in bruises and cuts, almost as unnaturally coloured as he had been under the Christmas lights; the shades all jarring together to make a sickly mess, some harsh and red and angry, others black, fading yellows and purples. And Matteusz knows the signs, from the time when he was struggling to accept his sexuality. He'd recognised them in Charlie - the way he rarely ate, the weight loss, sleep without rest, so much else, all pointing towards the same thing - but he had not thought that it had come to this. He had thought that he and April had been keeping an eye on him, to stop him from hurting himself. And Matteusz doesn't stop to think, reaches forward to trace one older, white cut under Charlie's ribs. Charlie's eyes flutter closed, and his skin is cold, and goosebumps trail along after Matteusz's touch.

Matteusz swallows hard, forcing down his tears and a shout, and he's scared, he's _so scared_. "Charlie." He says at a whisper. "Charlie. Have you been—" He can't quite say it out loud.

And Charlie, who regularly misses the most obvious of social cues, knows exactly what he's trying to ask. "No." He replies, and he steps closer. Matteusz's hand flattens against his stomach, and he can feel his heartbeat, steady and alive. "Remember when I told you that I missed fighting?" He asks. Matteusz nods. "April is not as fragile as a regular human." Charlie says. "And I did kill her. Because she asked me to. We have some unresolved anger, and more than enough time when you're not here."

Matteusz doesn't know what to say to that, where to even _start_ , but he slides the hand on Charlie's stomach around to his back, brings the other up too and holds him close - not as tightly as he would like to, mindful of his bruising, but he curves his body around him, curls his shoulders like if he can just touch as much of him as possible, he can shield Charlie from everything. Matteusz lowers his head, until his forehead rests against Charlie's shoulder and their cheeks are pressed together. "I'm sorry." He whispers, and he's not sure what it's for; for the strains in their relationship, for Charlie's conflict with April, for the things Charlie has had to do and the grief and the choices the universe has laid on him, for not knowing how to be there for him, for _everything_.

Charlie's breath catches in his throat, and he slowly, _carefully_ , hugs him back, hands gentle on the small of his back. Like he's afraid of breaking him with a touch. Matteusz had been so worried that he might do something to hurt Charlie that he hadn't had the thoughts to consider that Charlie might feel the same way. He feels tears gather in his eyes. "I'm sorry too." Charlie whispers back.

They climb into bed after that, staying connected all the way down; helping each other pull off shirts and jeans, cold hands on cold flesh nevertheless leaving a soft warmth behind. Charlie lies down on his back and Matteusz climbs half on top of him, head on his chest and arm wrapped around his stomach. He's always liked lying like this, feeling the way Charlie breathes against his cheek and his chest, Charlie's fingers in his hair moving lightly against his scalp, hearing his heartbeat. It's a comfort and a reassurance and it reminds him of asking if he could stay and Charlie promising him forever.

"I don't know why you're still here with me." Charlie says in a hush, and the "after what I've done" lingers in the air.

And Matteusz could say any number of things. Because you need me. Because I need _you_. Because you said you wished you were dead. Because I know that here is where I should be. Because I never want either of us to forget what you had to sacrifice to save the world. Because I'm scared and lost and alone and so are you. Because I need to see who you become when your guilt and horror and desperation are no longer eating you alive. Because I promised. "Because I love you." Matteusz replies, and it is _enough_.

* * *

 **A/N:** If you've got any ideas for vaguely-related fic, I'd love to hear it. Otherwise, I'm probably done for now (which is a shame because I'm pretty iffy on parts of this one). At least until I watch the entire series again and find something new to focus on. haha.

I'm sorry I didn't get out my copy of Die Hard to check what's on the menu screen I am a failure.


End file.
